


Victory's Sweetness

by astralprojects



Series: Second Person Fics [2]
Category: BanG Dream! (Anime), BanG Dream! Girl's Band Party! (Video Game)
Genre: F/F, Forget The Agency, Let Chisato Shirasagi Swear, No tags really apply?, POV Second Person, it's teen because they swear, more bad 2nd POV fics by yours truly, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-05
Updated: 2020-06-05
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:48:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24555688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/astralprojects/pseuds/astralprojects
Summary: You've been pursuing this taste for quite some time.
Relationships: Aoba Moca/Shirasagi Chisato
Series: Second Person Fics [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1854790
Comments: 5
Kudos: 30





	Victory's Sweetness

You've won.

She's here now. This isn't a game - it never has been. But it still hasn't fully set in, it still feels far too unreal to be the truth, but it is.

She’s satisfied, electrified by your side; you’ve won.

You pushed forward, she pushed away; that was just the routine between you two. Maybe she'd push back, give you a bit of hope to fuel your persistence with, but she'd get swallowed up in self-doubt within the blink of an eye and you'd doubt whether the push ever happened. 

But right now, she's pushing, and you know she's going to keep pushing forward. You don't have to worry anymore - she's taken the risk and jumped in. The feeling of triumph leaves a lasting impression on you, and you savour each and every last grain.

You pride yourself on your diligence and ability.

You aren't a genius for nothing, after all.

That's why you were able to see what's behind the surface. Delve deeper than expected to find a soul so much like your own. Chisato Shirasagi, strikingly similar to a self- and publicly-proclaimed gremlin like yourself? Everyone you know would laugh. 

Now that she's inches away from you, you suppose you can look even closer. There's no need for that, though: this moment is just for the two of you. No jokes, no formalities, no public eye, no facades. You don't have anything to prove, nor does she. This moment is like a frozen shard of heaven and tranquility, stored away in time - you can escape for a while. Find salvation in the exhausted forms of each other.

You've won, and she's the only reward you need. But she's not a prize to be given, and you've never viewed her as such. Your relationship is the brightest jewel found at the end of a disaster instead - you'll treasure it with everything.

How much of this symbolism is joking or incorrect? You've said things like these before, dropping overt hints to friends who still don't understand what you're doing, yet this feels different. But you suppose none of that matters. You can be a different person around her; you can relax. You can do things without thinking them over before you speak, and you don't have to kick yourself over your impulsiveness. For the first time in a while, perhaps ever, you can be vulnerable - you've forgotten what that's like, but she'll ease you through it just like you will her.

The mask she adorns is so cleverly crafted, you'd found even yourself wavering on whether or not you'd be able to get through it. That's why it shocked you so much the first time she played along with your antics, or allowed herself the relief of letting down her barriers: she seemed so immovable, even to a master of the trade like yourself.

You quickly adapted to that side of her, loved it within a second. She’s so much more than what meets the eye - she’s not just a pretty picture for the public for ogle or admire, and you honestly can’t fathom how others think she is. But even if you can’t get through to them in some way and convince them of reality, and even if she denies you the opportunity in order to keep up appearances, that’s alright. She’s grown accustomed to that ubiquitous perception, aided by the bigoted sands of time, so she’s okay with it. And if she’s okay with it, you will be too.

To some extent.

It’s genuinely unfair. The rules and obligations, the ignorance of society, the ever-diminishing cracks in her contracts, but you’ll find a way to slink through them. Slip away in between each blemish and laugh at those struggling to punish you for your lawful protests. You’re smart enough to do that: to abide by the restrictions in such a disagreeable way it drives those against the both of you insane.

It’s a bittersweet taste dancing on your tongue, but you only taste the sweetness in those situations regardless.

But when the bitterness strikes, it strikes hard, even with your utmost desire weathering it beside you. It devours you without a glimpse of mercy; yet without a sliver of doubt, she tears you out of its mirage until the sweetness is back in full force, and you forget the ugly memory of loss among victory.

In those fragile eternities do you remember her unrivaled strength, realise its true worth and immortality. There’s always that cleansing shower of relief that floods over you once you do, and you remember you’re not alone. Not in industry difficulties, not in unpurchased punk singles, not in the pastel lights screaming her name, not in joint tears, laughs, frustration, and grief. Not in your struggles, nor in hers.

“What’s that you keep telling me?” A wry smile plays out on her lips, and you know she recalls your new catchphrase far too well. “Indulge me for a moment.”

You play along - years of practice have built up to shenanigans like these.

“Hm, I don’t know…” Your grin mirrors that of her own. “Fuck the agency?”

“Right,” she praises you. You’re pulled tighter against her. “Fuck the agency.”

There’s no time to answer as a new sensation overpowers your thinning self-restraint and control.

This taste has the tenderness of a beloved memory, the echo of a content smile you’ve played on loop before in your imagination, but it’s a new flavour nonetheless. 

You’ll note it down in the accounts trapped within your imagination later on. Right now, there are more valued things occupying your attention.

**Author's Note:**

> Half of this was written at midnight, the other half two seconds ago. I love the Mocachisa dynamic but I understand I didn't do the feelings between them both justice here, so, uh... I apologise. Just know I would give this pairing my everything.


End file.
